What happens in the Dude Cave stays in the Dude Cave
by Ella Greggs
Summary: Rule #1 - Never let Stevie Budd plan your bachelor party.


**Author's Note:** Set after S5E14: Life is a Cabaret. Inspired by a line Ted speaks in S3E05: Rooms by the Hour (bunny-cam episode), which I have transposed to this story.

**Summary:** Rule #1 - Never let Stevie Budd plan your bachelor party.

**Rated T** for swearing and mildly sexually explicit language.

**Disclaimer:** I own even less than the Roses did when they moved to Schitt's Creek. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**What happens in the Dude Cave Stays in the Dude Cave**

David knew it was a mistake from the word go. The Rose siblings, Stevie and Patrick were all having dinner at Ted's about a week before the wedding when the metaphorical Titanic struck the mother-fucking iceberg.

"So, David!" Stevie said brightly. "As your best friend I think it's my responsibility to organize the bachelor party."

David narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Stevie never volunteered to do anything out of the kindness of her heart.

"And just what were you thinking," he replied, trying to sound indifferent. "A tour of Ontario's wineries, perhaps? Or a quick trip to the museums of Montreal?"

Stevie grinned that closed mouth grin of hers, like she could barely contain the words about to burst forth.

"I was thinking something closer to home." David remembered how she paused for dramatic effect, cruel bitch that she was. "How about… the Dude Cave?"

David was appalled. He was just about to throw that fledgling idea to the ground and stomp on its teeny tiny heart when Patrick asked, "The Dude Cave? What's that?"

"It's the all-male strip club outside town," Ted chimed in cheerfully. "My cousin Dwayne works there. He drives a corvette."

"In other words," David said dismissively, "a sleezy place where desperate people drink themselves into a stupor on overpriced, watered down alcohol while watching even more desperate out-of-shape men jump around to Y.M.C.A."

"Oh my god, David," Alexis gushed, crooking her arms up in her 'T-Rex' pose and giving her little 'isn't that precious' smirk. "You guys should totally go there."

David turned to his fiancé with a look of abject horror on his face and shook his head slightly, but Patrick actually appeared to be mulling the idea over. Why, oh why did he have to fall in love with a man with such a high tolerance for the absurd?

Patrick leaned back in his chair. "I don't know, David. It sounds like it could be fun. I've never been to a strip club and I think a few of my cousins might even want to join us."

"Oh definitely," Stevie nodded vigorously, clearly enjoying David's predicament. "And I'll be there to make sure everyone has a good time."

_And take incriminating video for future blackmail purposes, of course_, David thought_. _Someday, somehow, he'd get her back for this.

Clearly outnumbered, he threw up his arms in defeat. "Okay, fine! So what kind of quality control do they have for the talent at this establishment? And notice I use that term loosely."

"Which term?" Ted asked. "Talent or establishment?"

"Both."

* * *

"What happens in the Dude Cave stays in the Dude Cave, right big guy?" Ted cried enthusiastically, shoving David on the shoulder so hard it tipped him sideways in his chair. The vet proceeded to strip down to his wife-beater, revealing the outlines of an impressive six-pack, and twirl his shirt over his head with a joyous 'woo-hoo!'

David hunkered down in his least favorite angora sweater, hands jammed into his armpits, squeezed his eyes shut, and rocked back and forth in denial. Places like the Dude Cave were _so_ not his scene. Even if it wasn't totally repulsive like that club in Tokyo where women pay to have naked men lick their feet, the Cave lived up to its name by being dark and reeking of sweat from all the bodies pack in. It even had a tacky disco ball, for Christ's sake!

Alexis' boyfriend was totally wasted, which by itself was not a big deal – there were plenty of people around to make sure he didn't get into any trouble. And okay, Ted's body (which David had already seen quite a bit more of during Bunnycam-Gate) could definitely hold its own against the best quality specimens on stage. But that was beside the point. Ted's condition meant one less person David could actually talk to. Patrick's gazillion male cousins didn't count. They were either profoundly uncomfortable or way too comfortable with the man-meat on parade. Some were trying to pick up women in the crowd, which, well, good luck with that Mr. mid-range denim when you're competing against a plethora of oiled Adonises.

Stevie was in her glory. Despite his best efforts to get her to do shots and therefore become too drunk to film anything, she spent all night deliberately nursing a single bottle of Merlot. Every time he caught her fiddling with her phone she gave him a faux-innocent look and insisted she was "just checking my text messages."

The worst thing – the dancers were actually pretty hot. Lean, well-muscled but not overmuch. Drool-worthy chests, washboard abs, and chiseled V-cut hips. Even the waiters looked good in their booty shorts and tight Ts. David had to grudgingly admit the stage show wasn't totally tragic. Some of the performers just came out in suspenders and speedos and gyrated to Lady Gaga, but others incorporated the pole in more of a classy bluesy burlesque striptease. Instead of being titillated, though, David just kept sneaking side glances at his fiancé, checking for any sign that he might be appreciating the eye-candy just a little _too_ much.

At least Patrick seemed to be enjoying the night, which David told himself was a good thing, since, _really, David, you've got to get over yourself and let your fiancé have fun at his bachelor party._ There he was, sitting at their shared table taking it all in with that Mona Lisa smile of his, completely unphased as usual.

But then it all went to shit.

"Hey, handsome. I'm Gabe. A little birdy told me this is your bachelor party. Want a lap dance?"

The man in front of Patrick was, frankly, gorgeous. 6'2", blond hair, high cheek bones, piercing blue eyes, sculpted arms, firm round ass, toned thighs, and a torso to make Michelangelo weep. In other words, as physically opposite to David as it was possible to get. Just a tight pair of red spanks was all that stood between the world and Gabe's junk in the trunk. Every cell in David's body clenched in dread.

"It's both their bachelor parties," Stevie called out gleefully, raising her Merlot high. "They should each get a lap dance." She didn't even try to be subtle as she straightened up, huge smile on her face, and readied the camera on her phone.

Patrick was turning bright red and looked kind of panicked. "Uh…No, that's okay. I'm just enjoying the show." The dancer turned around anyway, bending over and sticking his butt in Patrick's face. Patrick swallowed hard. "But, David, if you want one then, um, you should do it." As he said this Patrick continued to stare at Gabe's backside, his voice sounding slightly high and squeaky.

David was already shaking his head so vigorously he thought it might fly off but now Stevie, that evil little gnome, started leading Ted and Patrick's cousins in a chant of "Lap! Dance! Lap! Dance! Lap! Dance!"

"Hey, Troy! C'mere," Gabe called.

A brown-haired dancer, slightly shorter and with a rounder face but just as built, shimmied through the crowd to plant himself in front of a grimacing David.

This dancer, too, turned around and simultaneously Troy and Gabe settled on each fiancé's lap, where they instantly began to move their hips in slow, rhythmic circles. David couldn't stand it even one second.

"No! No!" He jumped up, unceremoniously dumping Troy on the floor. "_This_," he indicated Troy with a sweep of his arm, "is not happening!"

"Hey!" Troy cried indignantly.

A chorus of boos surrounded them, led again by Stevie, and David was so going to smother her in her sleep for this. And then burn all her hideous plaid shirts.

David looked to Patrick. His fiancé appeared to be too stunned to move, as Gabe continued to grind and gyrate on his lap.

_That tight butt pressing against his cock, it's probably making him hard. I'll bet that's why he doesn't push Gabe off, his mind's saying 'no' but his body is screaming 'Yes, Yes, Yes!' like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. I know where all this dry humping leads. Gabe is going to rock Patrick's world while I just stand here and watch._

David heard a deafening roar in his ears and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He pushed his way roughly through the gaggle of cousins and bolted for the exit just as the hyperventilating and sobs really took hold. He ran awkwardly as far as the edge of the deserted parking lot. He'd have kept going, too, even though he really couldn't see through his tears, but he was gasping too hard. Plus, it was fucking dark out there in the woods and he was not accessorized for dealing with snakes and bears. So instead he just stood there with arms crossed tightly over his chest, desperately holding himself in against the world, imagining all the wicked things Gabe was doing to Patrick with his perfect face and perfect body while David, hideous, flabby David, who never exercised and sometimes skipped his moisturizing routine, was outside, alone, ugly crying.

A pair of footsteps pounding behind him made him turn around. Stevie and Patrick both came running up. Stevie looked upset and concerned. Patrick looked absolutely stricken.

The minute Patrick was within striking distance, David launched himself at him, burying his face in the crook of Patrick's neck. Patrick wrapped his arms around his fiancé and rubbed his back gently as David continued to cry so hard his body shook.

"God, David," Stevie said, wringing her hands. "I am so, so sorry. I just thought it would be funny."

David's head snapped up. "Well, it wasn't fucking funny! I just humiliated myself in front of half our wedding party and now the image of some fucking Greek God named Gabe making my fiancé come in his pants is burned indelibly into my brain forever!"

He unceremoniously wiped some snot onto his sweater sleeve and then buried his face in Patrick's neck once more to continue sobbing loudly.

Patrick pressed David even closer to him. "Stevie, would you leave us alone for a few minutes?" he asked softly.

She backed away slowly. "I really am sorry, David."

And then she was gone and it was just the two of them. It still took several more minutes for David to get himself under control.

"Please don't call off the wedding," he whispered into Patrick's neck. "I'll start working out, I'll use that new body milk we got in stock every day, I'll – "

"David, no one is calling off the wedding," Patrick cooed, continuing to hold him tight and rub soothing circles on his back. "Hey, look at me."

David wiped his nose again on his sleeve and pulled back to look Patrick in his face. Patrick smiled sweetly at him.

"The man you are right here, right now is the man I fell in love with. You are perfect just as you are. And I cannot wait to become Mr. Patrick Brewer-Rose." He leaned in and pecked David on the lips.

"But that dancer –"

Patrick looked a little embarrassed. "I didn't handle that very well back there. I was just taken by surprise, I guess, and everything happened so quickly. When Gabe sat on my lap I didn't know what to do and I guess I froze. But as soon as you ran out it kind of snapped me back into action and I told Gabe to get off so I could come after you. I'm sorry."

David's heart melted. How did Patrick always know the exact right thing to say? What Ghandi-level good karma had David earned in a past life to deserve this man? "No, I owe you the apology. I'm always so over-dramatic. I blame my mother. And now I've ruined both my angora sweater _and _your bachelor party."

"Well, maybe you ruined your sweater but you didn't ruin the party. Come on," Patrick said gently. "Let's go back in there and just enjoy the stage show. I think everyone got the message that lap dancing is off the menu." He hesitated. "Unless you just want to call it a night. You can stay here and I'll just go say goodbye to my cousins and –"

David squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "No, you're right. I'm okay now. Besides, I need to apologize to Troy. And maybe offer to pay some medical bills. The poor man probably cracked his tailbone when I dumped him on the floor."

With Patrick's arm still around David's waist and David's arm draped across Patrick's shoulders they started walking back to the Dude Cave.

"But we're getting Stevie blind drunk tonight." David declared. "I want her to have the mother of all hangovers. I want her to have a two-day hangover! And I still fully intend to burn her plaid collection."

Patrick patted him fondly on the chest. "That's my man."

Just before they got to the entrance David paused and turned toward his fiancé again, anchoring his hands on Patrick's shoulders.

David scrunched up his face and leaned back a bit. "So are we definitely going with Brewer-Rose, then? Because I think Rose-Brewer might be more on-brand. You know, since it's 'Rose Apothecary' and not 'Brewer Apothecary.'"

"David?" Patrick's eyes were dancing.

"Hmm?"

He kissed him softly. "Let's go get Stevie drunk."

David shut his eyes and nodded. "Okay. Good plan."

As they stepped through the door, David was already making a mental list of all the people he'd contact tomorrow about getting their hyphenated name right: the officiant, the reception MC, the thank-you note engraver. Somewhere along the way he'd make Stevie buy him a new sweater.


End file.
